


Taking Control

by PipMer



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom!Sherlock, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, top!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 08:22:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1184043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On this very special night, Sherlock wants to reverse their roles in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Control

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the come_at_once challenge, and written in 24 hours. My prompt was provided by marta_bee, and was "People will talk." Not beta'd or brit-picked, but thanks to prettybirdy979 for the initial look-over.   
>  
> 
> I've never before written anything porny. I joined this challenge in order to push myself past my comfort zone. I hope it turned out okay. I rated it explicit just to be safe, although I'm not entirely sure it actually goes over the 'mature' rating. Please enjoy!

 

 

 

 

The day had gone off without a hitch.  Surprising, considering the goings-on during John’s previous wedding.  But that had been fifteen years ago.  Since then, he’d lost a wife to pancreatic cancer, raised a precocious teen-aged daughter, and retired from private practice in order to publish books and raise bees.  Life had certainly settled into a more sedate tempo since those madcap, adrenaline-fueled days.  John didn’t miss them, though; not really.  As long as he had Sherlock, he was never bored.  The detective always ensured that excitement lay just around the corner.  For over five years now, that ‘excitement’ included certain, shall we say, ‘carnal’ activities.

 

 

His new husband’s eyes caught his own as Sherlock stood before the mirror undoing his Windsor knot.  Sherlock’s mouth tilted into a smirk as he deduced where John’s thoughts had strayed.  John’s heart sped up.  Even after so many years, he never failed to be aroused whenever Sherlock looked at him in a certain way.  Like how he was looking at him now.  As if John were better than a triple murder, a locked-room mystery, even a case whose only explanation seemed to be rooted in the supernatural. 

 

 

John swallowed as Sherlock turned to face him.  The detective’s blue/grey/green eyes glinted mischievously.  He tossed aside his burgundy tie and started undoing the buttons on his shirt, slowly walking towards John as he did so.  Not for the first time, the image of a cat stalking its prey flashed in John’s mind.  At fifty years of age, Sherlock was still as lithe and wiry as ever.  Just as stealthy too.  The analogy of a cat was complete with the shock of unruly hair that John loved to comb his fingers through, as if stroking a beloved pet.  Unbelievably, that hair was still thick and mostly raven, with just a few white threads running through it - just enough to make the detective look distinguished rather than aged.  John ran his hand through his own thinning grey strands and sighed at the unfairness of it.  Then again, _he_ was the one who got to enjoy the perks of such a well-preserved specimen of a man. He really couldn’t complain. 

 

 

Nervousness inexplicably stabbed his belly the closer Sherlock came.  John’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the posh setting that they would be spending their wedding night in before being whisked away in a private jet to parts unknown.  Literally unknown.  Neither Sherlock nor John knew where they were being taken for their two-week honeymoon.

 

 

“Greg and Mycroft really outdid themselves, yeah?” John said, cringing at the shrill sound of his voice.  “Couldn’t have asked for better best men.”

 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes.  “They just felt obligated, since we were best men at _their_ wedding six years ago.  Just returning the favour, as it were.”

 

 

John’s lips twitched.  “I thought it was _us_ returning the favour, actually.  A thank you for making us realise how we felt about each other.  It took watching Greg and Mycroft dance around each other to make us aware we were doing the exact same thing.”

 

 

Sherlock shrugged, stopping just inches away from John.  They were close enough for the tips of their shoes to touch and for Sherlock to loom over John to the extent that John had to tilt his head back to look him in the eye. 

 

 

“Doesn’t matter,” the detective drawled in that spine-tingling baritone that never failed to do unspeakable things to John’s libido.  “The result is the same.”

 

 

Sherlock reached out and traced a finger along John’s jawline.  John closed his eyes and shivered.  Sherlock smiled smugly as he continued his path along John’s lips.

 

 

“Why are you so anxious, John?  We’ve been shagging on a regular basis for years now; what makes this night so different from all the other nights?”

 

 

 

John’s breath hitched and his eyes remained closed.  “You know why.”

 

 

“Because it’s our wedding night?  Because we’ve finally legalised our partnership? You realise nothing changes after today, yes?  We’ve spent the last ten years, you and I, living together and raising your daughter together.  We’ve been shagging for half that time.  For all intents and purposes, we’ve been married for ages.”

 

 

John cleared his throat before opening his eyes, pupils blown, to meet Sherlock’s steady gaze.  He practically growled, “As if you didn’t know.  We’ve abstained for the past month so that the sexual tension would build up and we could look forward to this night like proper newlyweds.  Your idea, I might add.”

 

 

Sherlock smirked as he lifted his hands and cupped John’s face, thumbs stroking his cheeks.  “I’m a genius, aren’t I?”

 

 

John licked his lips.  “Yes.  A genius.  A genius and a great bloody tease.  Are you at least going to kiss me?”

 

 

“All in good time,” Sherlock replied smugly.  He dipped his head and brushed his nose against the pulse-point under John’s ear.  He placed a quick kiss there before licking a stripe down John’s neck and lightly biting his collar bone.  John hissed.  He brought his hands up and tugged on Sherlock’s hair, forcing the detective to lift his head and make eye contact.

 

 

“You,” John bit out, “have been a bad man.  Am I going to have to put you in your place?”

 

 

 _“Yes,”_ Sherlock growled.  “Just like we talked about.  I want you to take control.”  Sherlock lowered his head and whispered in John’s ear, “I want you to _fuck me.”_

 

“Oh God,” John breathed.  “Oh _God,_ yes.”  He put his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and marched him backwards until the detective’s legs met the bed and he fell backwards with an “ _oomph”,_ John sprawled on top of him.  He gave Sherlock a wicked smile.  “Are you ready for me to fuck you into the mattress, Sherlock?”

 

 

Sherlock swallowed.  With the slightest bit of hesitation, he nodded, naked vulnerability writ on his face.

 

 

 

This would be the first time they had done this.  Always, _always_ Sherlock had been the one to top John.  It had never been discussed; it had just been the natural order of things.  Outside the bedroom Sherlock had always taken control, been the one to lead John everywhere, and naturally that mind-set had followed them into the bedroom.  Sherlock had never been good at relinquishing control, unless it had to do with mundane, boring things like paying bills or doing the grocery shopping.  John didn’t mind; Sherlock had proven to be a very creative and innovative lover, introducing John to things he’d never even imagined.

 

 

Now it was John’s turn to be the one to set the pace, to finally breach Sherlock and be the one to take the detective’s literal virginity.  His nervousness faded into the background and a frisson of excitement travelled down his spine.  This was something to look forward to, not be ambivalent about.  John was _good_ at this, if previous experience was anything to go by.  He hadn’t earned the epithet “Three Continents Watson” for nothing. 

 

 

“Take off your shoes,” John ordered in his Captain Watson voice. 

 

 

Sherlock’s eyes widened.  “You’re lying on top of me, how am I supposed to -”

 

 

“Just - do it.”

 

 

Sherlock toed off both of his 300-pound bespoke shoes.  He shook them off his feet and sent them flying across the room.  John grinned. 

 

 

“Very good,” he encouraged.  He lowered his head and lightly brushed his lips against Sherlock’s.  He raised his head and Sherlock chased his mouth upwards.  John placed a warning finger against his lips.

 

 

“I set the pace, remember?” he chastised.

 

 

Sherlock huffed against the digit.  He rolled his eyes, and plopped his head back down on the bed. 

 

 

“John, just get _on_ with it,” he whinged. 

 

 

John smiled.  “Patience is a virtue.”

 

 

“Not when you get to be our age, it’s not.   You are squandering the precious resource of time; hurry _up.”_

 

 

John grinned.  Oh, he was _enjoying_ this.   “You could be less poncy, you know, and just say ‘time’s a’wasting.’” 

 

 

John flicked the button of Sherlock’s trousers open, and slowly pulled down his zipper, keeping eye contact the entire time.  He could barely see Sherlock’s irises; deep pools of inky blackness stared up at him.  Suddenly seized with a sense of urgency, John gestured for Sherlock to raise his bum off the bed.  When he did, John yanked both his trousers and pants down.  Sherlock gracefully shimmied out of them and spread his legs, baring himself in all his glory for John to feast his eyes on.  His mouth literally watered as he scooted down and took Sherlock’s length in, relishing the sound of his partner’s sharp intake of breath.  Sherlock’s hands settled on the top of John’s head - not demanding, just gently encouraging - and sighed, “Ah, John.  You’re perfect, absolutely perfect.”

 

 

John swiped his tongue along the glans in a teasing manner before pulling off Sherlock’s cock and burying his face in coarse, dark hair.  He slowly inhaled, taking in Sherlock’s unique musky scent, a scent that was all male. 

 

 

“You’re the one who’s perfect,” John sighed.  He lifted his head to see Sherlock staring down at him, flushed and with an expression of awe on his face.  John’s heart melted at the sight.

 

 

“You,” John started, but couldn’t continue due to the lump in his throat.  How could this man still engender such emotion in him, after all this time?  Not even Mary had managed to elicit such a maelstrom of _feelings_ from him.  Only Sherlock could do that.  It had always only ever been Sherlock.

 

 

“John?” Sherlock asked, voice laced with concern, and - insecurity?

 

 

John flashed him a brilliant smile.  “I am going to make you scream my name tonight,” he promised.  “I’m going to make you beg for mercy.  Twice.”

 

 

Sherlock licked his lips.  “I never beg.”

 

 

John’s eyes flashed.  He crawled up Sherlock’s body, nudging his shirt aside as he placed kisses on his partner’s almost hairless, porcelain chest.  When he got to Sherlock’s neck, he budged up to straddle the detective.  “Off,” he commanded.

 

 

Sherlock wiggled the rest of the way out of his shirt, throwing it aside to languish somewhere on the floor.  John drank in the sight of him. 

 

 

“Someone’s wearing too many clothes,” Sherlock said.

 

 

John smiled.  “Stay there,” he commanded as he shimmied away from  Sherlock and off the bed.  He started to undress, but stopped when he noticed Sherlock’s feet.  A high-pitched giggle escaped him before he could stop himself.

 

 

Sherlock raised an imperious brow.  “What?” he demanded petulantly. 

 

 

“You’re laid out like a gourmet meal, completely naked and gorgeous… and you’re still wearing socks.”

 

 

Sherlock scowled.  “You haven’t given me much opportunity to take them off, have you?”

 

 

John giggled again.  “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”  He knelt down and peeled Sherlock’s socks off, giving the bottoms of both feet a feathery-light caress.  Sherlock jerked, his mouth twitching at the corners.

 

 

“Ticklish much?” John teased.  He hurriedly divested himself of every stitch of clothing.  Sherlock raked an appreciative glance over him from head to toe.  John had kept himself very fit over the years, not letting himself get too soft around the middle.  He still felt drab and ordinary compared to Sherlock, but he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of concerning his physique. 

 

 

“Like what you see?”

 

 

“Too much talking, John.  I thought you were going to fuck me.”

 

 

“Pushy, pushy,” John tutted.  He walked unashamedly over to their bags.  He rummaged around in one of them until his hand closed around the bottle of lube.   They had dispensed with condoms years ago.  John walked over to the bed, tossing the bottle next to Sherlock.  He settled himself on top of the detective, cocks sliding against each other.  “How do you want me to do this?” John asked softly.

 

 

“I want to see you,” Sherlock replied.  “I want to ride you.”

 

 

“Oh.”  John swallowed.  “Alright.  We can do that.” 

 

 

John slicked his fingers with the lube.  “Do you want just one at first?”  John had fingered Sherlock before, but he wasn’t sure how tight he’d be after going without for so long. 

 

 

Sherlock nodded.  “Yes, one at a time please.”

 

 

 

John reached around and gently pushed his index finger in.  Sherlock gasped, his hips involuntarily bucking up.  “You okay?  You don’t feel too tight to me.”

 

 

“Yes,”  Sherlock breathed.  “Feels good.  Another finger now.”

 

 

John smirked.  “As you wish,” he replied, pushing two digits in.  He worked Sherlock open, scissoring his fingers and eliciting moans of pleasure from his partner.  He brushed up against the prostate, and Sherlock threw his head back in ecstasy, hands scrambling for purchase on the duvet.

 

 

“Ah, John!  Yes, please, one more and then I want your cock in me.”

 

 

Arousal spiked through John as he watched the beautiful sight under him:  Sherlock’s eyes squeezed shut, face flushed, needy little pants escaping that perfect mouth.  John slipped a third finger in, and Sherlock’s back arched off the bed.  

 

 

“Oh my god!!”  Sherlock cried.  He fisted both hands into the duvet, trying to anchor himself.  “If - if this is what it’s like after only a month - we should - try abstinence more often.”

 

 

“Don’t know if I could survive that,” John grunted, desperately trying to rein himself in so that he didn’t come right then and there.  He pulled his fingers out, and pulled Sherlock into an upright position.

 

 

“All right, so you wanted to ride me, you said.” 

 

 

Sherlock nodded.  “If that’s alright with you.”

 

 

“Of _course_ it’s - of course it is.  I’ve had a lot of experience with this sort of thing, I’m very good at it.  And I’ll make sure _you_ feel good.”

 

 

Sherlock blinked.  He looked at John with naked desire and unabashed love, as if, even after all this time, he still couldn’t quite believe that someone could cherish him this much.

 

 

John cupped Sherlock’s cheek.  “This is going to be so good for you.  I just need to prepare myself a bit.”  He squirted a generous dollop of lube on his fingers, then slathered over his cock from root to head.  He gave himself a few strokes to ensure that he was good and hard, then reached for his husband.

 

 

“You’re familiar with how this works when our positions are reversed, so just take my role.”  Sherlock shifted onto his knees and let John help position him over his cock. 

 

 

“Okay,” John said gently, “Now ease down slowly, and I’ll guide myself into you.  Little by little, not all at once.”

 

“I’m not an _idiot,_ John,” Sherlock said impatiently.  “I know how this works, the only thing I lack is practical experience.”

 

 

John laughed softly.  “Yes, and that’s why I’m here to help.  Okay now, slowly lower yourself - that’s it, you’re doing lovely.  Work yourself up and then down again, taking in a little more of me each time - that’s it.”

 

 

Sherlock looked down in fascination as he impaled himself on John’s cock.  He hissed at the initial breach as pain blossomed through him, but he worked himself through it quickly until the burn faded into the background and the pleasure surged to the fore.  He rocked up and down, anchored in place by John’s steadying hands on his back.  Euphoria washed over him and he closed his eyes in ecstasy; he leaned forward until his forehead was pressed against John’s. 

 

 

 

“That’s it, love.  My god, you feel incredible, so good, you feel so good, Sherlock.  How have I gone this long without feeling you, oh my god,  Sherlock my love….”

 

 

 

John’s endearments quickly pushed Sherlock to the very brink.  His breath came in rapid bursts as he stuttered, incoherently, “Jo- John, oh god - I - Oh my god - _fuck -_ I didn’t know - I never knew - how could I not know - “

 

 

He reached down and took himself in hand.  He gasped as he stroked himself in time to John’s thrusts, simultaneously trying to prolong the pleasure and yet give himself relief, spiralling ever closer to climax.  The orgasm started to wash over him, coming not all at once but in waves.  He shuddered with the anticipation as he felt it build up, until finally it crested and he could no longer hold back.  He let go, throwing his head back and digging his fingers into John’s shoulders as it overtook him and pulled him under.  He barely recognised himself as he shouted “Oh _John, yes, yes, oh God yes, OOH JOOOOOHN!”_

 

 

John stared in awe as his lover shuddered and trembled through the aftershocks of his orgasm.  “Gorgeous.  So bloody gorgeous,:” he breathed.  He continued thrusting up into Sherlock until he felt his own climax coiling at the base of his spine, and he found his release with Sherlock’s name on his tongue.

 

 

They collapsed onto their sides, sweat-drenched and out of breath.  Legs entangled and faces inches from each other, they both broke out in wide grins.  “That,” John panted, “was the most brilliant thing I’ve ever done.”

 

 

“And you married the world’s only consulting detective.”

 

 

“I did.”

 

 

Sherlock placed a hand on his own chest, trying to get his breath back.  “We need to start being a bit quieter during sex.  People will talk.”

 

 

John grinned, warmth blooming in his chest.  “People do little else,” he replied deadpan.

 

 

Sherlock stared at him.  Then he tilted his head back and let loose with the delightful rumbling laughter that always evoked the giggles from John.  They lay there for several minutes, grinning and laughing, a stray snort escaping every so often.  Finally, exhaustion crept up on them both and their eyelids started to droop.

 

 

 

As sleep started to pull them under, their hands simultaneously reached for each other.  The darkness found them side by side, separate and yet connected.  Just as John was about to sink into the land of dreams, Sherlock whispered, “I love you, John.  Till death do us part.”

 

 

John smiled faintly.  He squeezed Sherlock’s hand, replying, “And not even then.”

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> The part where Sherlock says "You are squandering the precious resource of time" was suggested by prettybirdy979. I wondered how I could make Sherlock say something along the lines of 'time's a'wasting' while still sounding 'Sherlocky'. The phrase Sherlock actually says was provided by birdy - that one is all hers!


End file.
